


DuckTales!: Prequel Stories

by HowardR



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: (kinda), Baby Huey and Dewey and Louie Duck, Chaptered, Dewey Duck Has ADHD, Dewey gives a shit but is bad at it, Huey's super protective until proven otherwise, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Louie's the smart one kinda not really, Older Sibling Huey Duck, One Shot Collection, Parent Donald Duck, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Single Parents, ah yes more Duck Fam, maybe? - Freeform, young donald, young duck fam, young fethry, young gladstone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: What it says on the tin.In which a young Scrooge refuses to play baseball alone, a young Donald hates his cousins (and their insistence in hanging out with him), Louie Duck is quiet, Dewey is a problematic child, and Huey just wants his brothers to stay safe and happy.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Donald Duck, Duck Fam
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	1. Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louie says a word.

Louie was the one who first said a word.

Dewey had been the first to start babbling. He had picked up the basics of human speech quite quickly, apparently, and he seemed to really enjoy making noise. He babbled, and cried, and screamed. He cried when he got a splinter, and screamed when he got shots. Dewey hated everything he didn’t love.

Huey was the first one to complete a sentence. He had managed to piece together a sentence pretty quickly, mostly from replicating what Donald said. He babbled quite a bit too - cried less, though. He was a screamer, sure, but only as much as any child. He wasn’t emotional, and he learned quicker then the others. Mostly. When Donald told Huey not to do something, he wouldn’t do it. He was smart like that.

But Louie said a word first.

“Want.”

Louie was a quiet child.

Donald worried about it, sometimes. About how quiet Louie was, always. Next to always, anyway.

Every one of them had gotten a splinter, pretty quickly. It was a rickety old houseboat, after all. Dewey screamed and cried, even after it had been taken out. Huey had wailed, and hobbled over to Donald, holding the hand out pleadingly. Huey was the one who relied on him most - who seemed to really understand that Donald was the adult.

But Louie hadn’t done either of these things.

He’d cried. But it wasn’t Dewey’s screaming, screeching cry, or Huey’s wailing, pleading cry.

It was a silent, desperate cry.

Dewey’s cry said  _ this hurts. _ Huey’s cry said  _ help me. _

Louie’s cry said  _ wrong. _

_ This is wrong. _

He stared at the splinter like it was an alien creature, and cried. Not because it hurt - well, maybe a little bit. But also because it wasn’t  _ meant to be. _

It was  _ wrong. _

And when Donald found him, alone in a corner, he hadn’t even realized that he had a splinter for a moment. Because Louie’s cry was silent aside from a stray hiccup or cough, and babies cried. He wasn’t screaming for help - he was just crying. Babies did that sometimes.

He had only noticed the splinter because Louie wouldn’t stop staring at it.

And when he pulled it out, Louie had watched the tiny droplet of blood trail down his finger without a sound.

He was a quiet child. When he babbled, he did it alone - or very quietly, trying to repeat something Donald had said. Almost like he was mumbling notes to himself -  _ babble babble babble. _

And he said a word first.

Louie had pointed at a green-and-black scarf, and said - quiet, but clear-

“Want.”

For a moment, it hadn’t really processed. Donald didn’t even quite understand it. But, the second the word pierced the fog of his brain, he whipped around.

And there Louie was, pointing at the scarf and staring - very piercingly for someone so young.

“Want.” He had repeated, jabbing his finger at it.

And Donald started crying.

He had nobody to tell. Nobody to brag to. No other parent to call to from the another room - no ‘Della!’ to shout anymore.

He called Gladstone.

“Yo, what’s up big D?”

“Louie said his first word!!”

Gladstone had blinked - and then grinned, wide and easy.

“That’s great, cuz! What’d he say?”

“‘Want’!!” Donald’s voice couldn’t have been prouder - and Gladstone was happy to hear it. His poor cousin deserved a break every once in a while.

Gander let out a single bark of laughter.

“I knew I liked that kid! I’m tellin’ ya, Donald - he’s gonna be a real stone-cold bastard one day!”

Donald just looked at his youngest son, and smiled - so wide it hurt.

It never occurred to him that Louie wasn’t  _ his _ son.

Because, in this moment, the nephews were no-one’s but his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to be a collection of prequel one-shots. I might play around with canon a little in some, but anything explicitly AU probably won't last past one chapter. I'm going to have stories about young Donald, Della and the cousins, maybe a few about young Scrooge, and of course plenty of baby triplets stuff. Consider sticking around.
> 
> Sweet Dreams,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louie is quiet.

“Thanks.”

Louie had never been a duck of many words.

Of course, Donald knew there was a lot more going on in that head of his then Louie let on. Once upon a time, Louie had made the best grades of any of his siblings. Huey had worked very hard for his honor roll, and presented it proudly on his report card - and Donald had smiled so wide it hurt, like he couldn’t help but do, and told Huey how proud he was. And Louie had told Huey he was a massive nerd, and Huey had rolled his eyes and said that at least he did his work. He’d  _ never _ seen Louie read!

And it was only the next day that Louie had walked up to him, shoulders hunched and looking very small, and presented his own report card - apparently not quite having realized before that he had to actually show it to Donald, to get his signatures.

A crisply printed line of ‘A+’s had ran down the left side of the page - along with a note at the bottom about his near-perfect conduct.

He hadn’t gotten the same praise from his teachers as Huey - Huey, who worked so incredibly hard for his grades. But the notes said that he was an ideal student - smart, quiet, so very clever - oh, but humble too, unwilling to admit he was anything more then his brothers.

And then there was the first parent-teacher conference, where they had discussed his boys. And the teachers had started with Dewey - a very active student, with a bright imagination, but a little too  _ energetic, _ maybe he needed some ADHD meds? Oh, yes, of course, Donald would say, inwardly wondering what the hell ADHD even meant. He was energetic, sure, but weren’t all kids? He wasn’t quite sure. Dewey had gotten good grades, sure, the teachers had said - a decent, average student, but he didn’t seem to pay as much attention as he should, hm? Maybe they should take him to a doctor, get him checked, see if he needed any medication.

They had digressed.

Huey - oh,  _ there _ was a wonderful student.  _ Perfect, _ they said, absolutely perfect. He participated in class whenever he got the chance, and he was always so eager to learn more too. He was far ahead of most of the students,  _ quite _ far ahead, and he had a wonderful speaking voice. He always volunteered to read aloud, and he was so  _ good _ at it. Just a wonderful child.

Donald had grinned widely, and thanked them for the compliments.

But what about Louie?

There had been a pause.

Louie read the fastest of anyone in the class.

Louie was farther ahead then all the other boys.

Louie always read ahead in his textbooks - but he never asked the teachers any questions.

Louie would take things off the teachers desk and peer at them in interest, before setting them back quite quickly when he was caught.

Louie would answer questions only when prodded, and often get them wrong - and yet, his tests were impeccable.

He said that his brothers were the academics - the  _ nerds _ \- but he was the one with straight A’s.

He claimed that his brothers were the talented ones.

He said that Dewey got the brawn, Huey got the brains, and he got the laziness.

‘Mr. Duck, your youngest nephew might need to skip a grade,’ they said.

The report card, and now this, and Donald wasn’t sure how to feel.

He wanted to be proud, but he was too busy being worried.

Louie was a child of few words.

Then came the moment when Donald had to confront Louie about this - about skipping a grade - and his voice wavered, not with pride, but with worry and confusion.

And Louie stared at him for a long time, eyes wide and odd.

He ran to his room, and slammed the door.

When he presented his next report card, his grades had dropped to D’s.

He said that he must’ve just gotten lucky for a while.

Louie Duck had always been a child of few words, but, sometimes, he would say something very simple that still managed to blow Donald away.

And this was one of those times.

Fourth grade, fifth day. Louie had been sitting at the table when Donald got up and started making breakfast.

This wasn’t uncommon.

“Thanks.”

Donald had blinked, and turned to him.

“For what?”

Louie had glanced at him, and away from his hand, drawing pentagrams on the table with his finger.

“This. Taking care of us. Being our uncle. It couldn’t’ve been easy, dealing with me and  _ Dewey _ all these years. So. Thanks.”

Donald had stared for another moment.

And then started crying.

Louie hadn’t understood, even a little, why exactly that simple sentiment had meant so much to him. Louie saw it as a very simple, easy thing.

But it made Donald’s day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Sweet Dreams,
> 
> -Howard R.


	3. What d'you think our Mom's like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dewey asks his brothers a question.

“What d’you think our Mom’s like?”

Huey glanced up when the question was posed, tearing his eyes from the cover of a geology book he’d gotten for his birthday. Well -  _ their _ birthday, technically, but they always celebrated Huey’s first. Louie was in the corner, scribbling on a notebook - pentagrams, like usual. He’d been fascinated with them since he was a kid, and still drew them absentmindedly on the margins of his tests.

Dewey was sitting on the bed, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful.

Huey tilted his head back and hummed thoughtfully.

“Well, she was probably super cool.” He eventually said, like it was a conclusion he had come to after much internal debate. “Maybe she was a sailor too?”

Louie glanced up from his notebook at that, and sent Huey a clouded look that the oldest sibling didn’t catch.

“Nah, probably not.” Dewey said, laying back on his bed and flopping his head over the side. “She was probably a pirate or something. Oooh, what if she was like, a pirate captain? Sailing the high seas, taking down Navy ships like they’re toothpicks!”

Louie mumbled something under his breath, scribbling an hourglass into his notebook - turned, and slowly spilling pentagrams into the mostly-empty bottom.

His brothers ignored the mumble. They’d learned to do so since they were kids.

“Maybe,” Huey acquiesced, closing his book and crossing his legs. “If she was a pirate, though, she was probably more like Robin Hood. Stealing for the greater good. And not murdering, preferably.”

“Sometimes you gotta murder, bro!” Dewey said with a grin.

“No you don’t, Dewey. We’ve been over this.”

Dewey groaned.

“...Maybe she’s still on the high seas.”

They both glanced at Louie - scribbling away in his notebook still, refusing to look up.

“What’s that, Lou?” Dewey said, giving him his full attention.

“Maybe she’s still out there. On the Atlantic or the Pacific. Sailing the seas forever, lost for years. Trying to get back home.”

Silence, for a moment.

“Pssh.” Dewey said, sliding to the ground bonelessly. “As if.”

Louie smiled, just a little, from his corner.

“Maybe she’s just been getting us souvenirs for nine years?” He said, picking at the frayed edge of his green hoodie.

Huey snorted.

There was a lull.

“It doesn’t really matter.” Louie said suddenly, flipping his notebook closed and standing up. “Donald’s got us covered, parent-wise. And we’ve got more then enough family to go around.”

A chorus of agreement met this. They’d all been tasked with making a family tree last month and, well. Nobody had fun.

“Let’s go to Funso’s.” Louie said suddenly, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Where fun is in the zone!” The brothers chorused, before stopping and trading confused looks.

“But… it’s closed.”

Huey brought up this obvious point, considering it was well past eight PM by now.

Louie grinned - the wide, sparkling one that very rarely graced his features, with a light behind his eyes that flickered in chaotic swirls.

“And?”

The brothers exchanged another look as Louie left their room, hands in his pockets.

“...Well, I can’t let him break the law without supervision.” Huey said finally, though the tiny glint in his pupils gave him away.

Dewey grinned and sprinted after him, with a quiet ‘to funso’s!!!’

“Where fun is in the zone!” His brothers chorused - Louie with far less bravado then Huey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, that tiny detail about Louie drawing pentagrams came back. Fun.
> 
> Good Morning,
> 
> -Howard R.


	4. First fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ice cream is eaten.

All of them expected Dewey to be the first one to get into a fight.

It ends up being Huey.

Well, you could argue it was Louie. But  _ fighting _ suggests that both sides are in an equal-and-opposite duel. Besides, Louie didn’t  _ start _ anything.

Louie gets bullied.

It’s a fact, even if nobody really acknowledges it. They don’t talk about it because Louie doesn’t want to, and he was always good at hiding bruises. Donald never sees a thing, and his brothers keep quiet - because, at the end of the day, they’re loyal. Sometimes Louie stumbles into the bathroom, at home or at school, and washes dried blood from his nose and doesn’t say a word. His brothers never ask. The teachers never notice. And Donald - well. What Louie doesn’t want Donald to know, he usually doesn’t know. At least for a little while.

But then the day comes that they actually  _ see _ the kids that do it - a group of three, of course. Because it was always three, for some reason. And one of them shoves Louie to the ground, and he gasps for breath for a moment. Tears form in his eyes, and there’s blood on his nose - maybe from the fall, maybe from something that came before it. And he glares at the teens - the glare that says  _ I’m a Duck and you aren’t, so I win _ \- but they don’t really seem to get the memo.

And the kick aimed at his stomach never meets its goal, because Huey is there.

And maybe Huey isn’t the strongest duckling in the nest, but he can throw a mean punch when he wants to - and then Dewey is there too, and he’s on the football team for a reason, and really, once Louie gets up the teens don’t stand a chance.

When they’re called to the office, Louie is the only one with his head down.

Donald puts on a show in front of the teachers - but if they go and get ice cream after, well. That’s their business, isn’t it?

Louie hums while he eats. Something weird, and floaty. Something with dark undertones but sweet, odd overtones. Like dark chocolate and molasses.

Huey patches up his brother’s busted nose as best he can. Louie never went to the school nurse. He’s learned to hide these things.

Dewey brags about how amazing he was in that fight. Donald tells him not to brag about violence - but the smile on his face gives him away to anyone and everyone.

And they finish their ice cream with smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duck Fam deserve ice cream.
> 
> Good Morning,
> 
> -Howard R.


End file.
